


The Promise of Peace

by Alex_Quine



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:19:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex_Quine/pseuds/Alex_Quine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kili discovers that elves would challenge him in many ways and Gimli finally understands his last journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Promise of Peace

**Author's Note:**

> This story was initially posted as a series of drabbles/ficlets at www.alex-quine.livejournal.com.

The Promise

Fili was plaiting his hair, wielding the bone-comb carefully before twisting it into smooth, golden plaits that drew the hair back from his brow and framed his face. Strong fingers closed the wrought-metal clasps around the ends of each plait. All the while he was humming a drinking song, but now he fell silent as he plaited the ends of his moustache.

Kili unfolded the velvet wrappings from about his fiddle and began to tune it.

“Do you play for us?” Fili said, stroking a finger across his top lip.

“I’ll play,” Kili replied, grinning.

“I’ll play too, little brother,” said Fili and he dipped two fingers into a small pot of beeswax to smooth down his beard.

Later, through flickering torchlight and hanging smoke, Kili saw the women in the dance catch him by the plaits as he whirled past, claiming him, pulling him towards them for a rough kiss, leading him away into one of the dark recesses of the hall. Fili was laughing, feigning outrage and smiling all the while. Even when three women passed his ‘leash’ from one to another, tugging at his moustache when he looked like resisting, he roared with laughter and winked at his brother as he was bundled away.

Kili could see his uncle sat beside the fire, rolling a cup between his hands, half listening to an elderly dwarf-bard who was reciting one of the old sagas and watching the dance all the while. Kili knew that there were two thin plaits hidden amidst his tresses that were silvering now, threads of mithril against the jet, but none would dare to catch hold to claim Thorin Oakenshield and none would claim him either. Kili, son of Dis, would leave his beard short, his hair unbound, and no woman would claim him.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Question

He had seen the Dwarf Lord’s eyes flicker towards the sinuous lines of his coronet, leaf and root, gleaming softly in the torchlight; even as he told him of Orcrist’s making. Thorin Oakenshield would love it for the goldsmith’s skill, but more he would love it for the gold, thought Elrond.

Now here was another, the sister-son with the wild hair and the dark eyes, come to walk his garden in the moonlight and as the young dwarf bowed and called him ‘Master Elrond’ in his soft burr, Elrond saw his eyes fix on the gold.

“Mr. Kili,” he said gravely, “Welcome to my garden.” He gestured to the dwarf that he should sit beside him, but Kili stood, four-square, and his eyes did not leave Elrond’s face, even as a faint blush painted his cheek.

The dwarf seemed to struggle for speech and Elrond let his head tilt, one eyebrow raised in questioning.

“I want to learn, Master Elrond,” said Kili, more boldly than he felt, “why some elves tie up their hair and others do not.”

I was mistaken, thought Elrond, forbearing to smile, lest Kili thought he mocked.

“To honour our kin, to show our rank, to better wield a blade or use a bow or play a harp, to please a lover,” he replied and permitted a small smile to pass between them. This was surely a dwarf dazzled by his first meeting with elves, yet Kili’s next question surprised him.

“Do you ever want to go without braids?”

Elrond thought how to answer, and perhaps to test his young visitor a little, and let his voice deepen to pour over Kili like raw honey.

“Ah, Mr. Kili” he said, “it is a long time since someone asked me to unbind my hair in the moonlight.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Bargain

It was as though he had been struck; a blow to his chest that left him unable to draw-breath.

Elrond saw the shock and then amazement in the young dwarf’s face and instantly regretted his words, but before he could voice an apology, Kili had stepped forward and Elrond found himself met and challenged by the gleam in the dwarf’s eye and the curl of a soft lip.

“I can teach you to use a good dwarf bow,” Kili said, adding, “Master Elrond,” in tones that skittered across Elrond’s skin.

“A generous offer, Mr. Kili.”

“An opening bid, Master Elrond.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The Reveal

The horse’s steady hoof-beats barely sound on the sandy ground.  It is pacing forwards and back, tracing diagonals and pirouetting on its haunches.  Kili breathes soft, watching elf and horse throw long shadows under this white moon.  No saddle, nor bridle; Elrond’s hair flows free on his shoulders, showing dark against the long robe that covers the horse’s back and almost down to his bare feet.

Kili remembers each silk-covered button undone, the reveal of sculpted muscle under pale skin and a trail of dark hair; his ‘half-Elven’ heritage, Elrond had said wryly.  Kili knows his body is powerful, with a dwarf’s heft in thigh and shoulder, but never has he met with such strength in grace, such suppleness…and never before believed himself to be beautiful.

………………………

To a dwarf, particularly one who knew himself to be a notable fighter, the opportunity to study elven armour, elven blades, was an irresistible prospect.  Fili had tried sauntering casually along a corridor that led to the armourers’ workshops, drawn by the ringing of hammers, only to find his way barred by guards who emerged silently from the shadows.

 Frustrated, he had sought out the practice ring, studying the combatants, particularly those in the armour tunics that seemed to wrap them in over-lapping ‘scales’, strong but flexible.

There is a murmuring of familiar voices below and to his right and pulling himself over the rail of the viewing stand, he sees Kili buckling a sword-belt around the Elf-lord stood before him.  Then, as Elrond sheaths his blade and rolls his shoulders to seat the armour properly, his brother trails his fingertips along the edge of the scabbard and Fili understands in his bones that although Kili may be arming Elrond now, he has undressed him before and a shiver runs on Fili’s back.  

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Truth

Fili’s grip on his arm will leave bruises; for now it burns.

“What game do you play, little brother?” he asks and his easy smile is gone. There is a vein of concern too as he pulls Kili close and demands to know whether the elf-lord has used some magic on him.

“Did you see it on his hand? Vilya, the Blue Ring?” Fili pauses and asks, anxious, wondering, “They are beautiful, but…why, brother?”

How, Kili wonders, to explain that seeing the elf-lord shatter beneath his hands is glorious, that Elrond’s hair sliding across his thighs takes his breath away.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Bow

The elven longbow fits his hand, his stance, like another limb but now he is on one knee, carefully drawing the dwarf bow, watching it bend.

Kili is standing at his shoulder and he can feel the heat of the dwarf’s body against his skin.

“Keep going,” Kili says softly, “it has a steel core, it will hold.”

He has reached the limit of the arrow and looses it to thud into the target as Kili leans in to catch an earlobe gently between his teeth.

Elrond murmurs, “I will put you across my knee and spank you.”

“You’ll try.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The Request

The first time, Kili thinks himself fevered to see silver vines curling around the elf-lord’s body as he gasps and shudders beneath Elrond’s touch. Then later, Elrond lets him gaze, spell-bound, at the fine tracery that emerges on the elf’s skin as he spends himself.

“It’s like mithril flowing over you,” Kili whispers and he stretches out a hand, but the pattern is fading.

Elrond’s head falls back against his pillow and Kili leans in to lick at the sweat running on his throat.

“You dwarves like to show your ink.” Elrond’s voice is deep and dark, vibrating in his throat and making Kili’s lips tingle.

“Mr. Dwalin carries our story for all to see on his bald head.”

“As elves,” Elrond says, as he grabs a handful of Kili’s hair and gently brings the dwarf’s face level with his own, “this is for us and for those we choose to share it with.”

Kili frees himself and sits up beside Elrond regarding him seriously and once again Elrond cannot guess what will come next and he loves and fears for Kili’s daring.

“Our ink fades and the edges blur as we age. Can you give me a mithril mark?”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The Ink

_“Our ink fades and the edges blur as we age. Can you give me a mithril mark?”_

“I cannot.”

Elrond watched the muscle twitch at the corner of Kili’s mouth and forbore to lean in for a kiss. This was a serious matter.

“The gift to reveal our link with growing things is part of what it is to be an elf. What we can do,” and he let one finger trail down the swell of Kili’s upper arm, “is gift you ink that will sit proud on your skin and never fade.”

_Kili is stretched out, naked, on a long table as a white-haired elf bends over his thigh with fine needles and ink. They encircled his arm first; the band of fine lines like cut gems, a clan mark and the same decoration as on his leather jerkin. Now, he is staring at the painted ceiling above, listening to his brother teasing him about what Dwalin will say and trying to ignore the sting._

_Elrond had promised his uncle that he would be fit to wield a sword in a matter of hours and his arm is wrapped in fine linen soaked in some kind of balm. However, this pain is sharper, his thigh feels as though it is on fire, as though something is gnawing at his flesh. An elleth brings the old elf some more ink, new needles, and Fili whispers in his ear that she could be pretty with a bit more meat on her and not such a longshanks. Kili knows that both elves have heard him._

There is sweat trickling down his back and itching in his cleft. Kneeling astride the elf-lord, he is stroking them both, capable hands full of hot, hard, slippery flesh. Between his knees, Elrond trembles with laughter, then groans and shudders and now Kili is giddy and shaking, so that Elrond has to hold him up as the warm stuff spurts over his fists.

When he comes to himself, he is still in Elrond’s hands and the elf is looking deep into his eyes with understanding and a measure of shared mischief too. Kili grins at him and Elrond lets one hand drop to the new ink on his thigh. A thumb rubs gently across the pattern and Kili feels his breath hiss between his teeth when, gradually, a flowing line of silver script begins to appear amidst the dark lines. His heart is thudding in his chest as he watches the letters glitter in the lamplight and suddenly he is uncertain about what this means.

“I told you that I could not gift you a mithril mark,” Elrond says quietly. “This is as much as I can do.”

“For a dwarf.”

“For any not of our kind.”

“Do you brand me as yours? Can I choose to hide it?”

The thumb stops and Elrond squeezes his thigh.

“I would not presume, Kili, to claim you unasked and the letters will only appear to those of the First Born you favour...it is your pleasure that creates it and my touch that releases it. If you wish I can remove it.”

“What does it say?” Kili asks.

“It says ‘elf-friend’.”

Kili is silent for a moment and Elrond begins to doubt his judgement in this.

“How do I know that you spelt it correctly?” Kili says plaintively.

Elrond splutters a little and Kili leans down and kisses him soundly.

“Nay,” he says, grinning, “That’s fine work. We’ll keep it,” and he begins to lick his hands clean. Then he stops and looks at Elrond.

“Any elf?” he asks and with a muted roar Elrond has tipped him over in his lap and is spanking him soundly.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Plan

Face down against Elrond’s thigh, Fili allows himself a small sigh. His arse is hot, pinking nicely, and that last blow made his spent cock twitch.

If he rubs his face back-and-forth, burns his elf-lord with his stubble, Elrond will lay on the stronger. It could be worth it, he thinks, flexing his hips slowly in Elrond’s lap and then, he’ll take the elf by surprise, up-end him and make him squeal.

Elrond is fascinated by Kili’s muscular shoulders and narrow waist, his strong thighs and Kili means to surprise him, but Kili can’t see his muscles bunch in readiness.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Peace

Elrond gasps as he is lifted bodily over Kili’s head and then there is a flurry of limbs, some colourful cursing in Khudzul and Sindarin, and they have collapsed in a tangle on the grass, where he would grasp hold of the young dwarf but Kili’s oiled thighs slip from his hands and Elrond silently chides himself for not remembering dwarves’ skills in wrestling sooner.

He tries to rise, but Kili has a grip on his hair and now he is caught; Kili’s strong legs are clasped around his waist, riding him like a pony and as Elrond rears up and goes to break free, Kili shocks him by suddenly beginning to tickle him under his arms and the elf-lord is reduced to helpless laughter. He can feel Kili beginning to slip from his back, throws himself flat and rolls over to catch the young dwarf in his arms and bring Kili’s mischief-filled eyes close to his own. The lovers stare at one another for a moment.

“Master Elrond,” Kili smirks. Then he tilts his head and kisses the tip of Elrond’s nose and the corners of his mouth, where the creases taste sweet.

“Peace, lover,” Elrond murmurs and Kili’s eyelids flutter momentarily at the sound, but his fingers are busy spidering along Elrond’s ribs.

“Time for that when I’m old,” mutters Kili and he pinches a nipple sharply, prompting Elrond to choke out that his imp will never grow old and Kili finds himself suddenly clasped so tightly to the elf-lord’s breast, that he cannot see his lover’s face, can only hear Elrond’s heart thudding against his cheek. It seems to him that Elrond is completely still, a figure carved in stone except for that pounding heart, but then the embrace softens and by the time that Kili looks in his face again, there is only love and shared mischief in Elrond’s gaze.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

And there is no ending to it…

Gimli sighs and lets his eyes close on the last of the golden light glittering on the ceiling. This day he needs to think through, to fix in his memory for ever, without such a glorious distraction.

Beside him, his elf lies peaceful for the first time in many months. At the end, the longing for the sea had gnawed at Legolas until Gimli could bear the sight no longer and although they had planned their last journey carefully, he had cut short their leaving, carrying a weeping Legolas from their home, forcing old and aching limbs onwards, leaving all behind as though they had merely stepped out for an evening stroll.

The sea voyage had been a battle of grey water and swirling foam endured because he must and the first sight of the Blessed Realm, all green and gold, had seemed both like the wildest garden that Legolas had ever planted and a strange place for a dwarf. But the Lady herself had met the ship, laying cool and healing hands on Legolas’ brow and bringing them to this place set apart for them; a cave, its sides and roof studded with rock crystal, opening onto a steeply wooded valley, with a stream murmuring below. They had made a bed for themselves that first night in its mouth, so that Legolas could see the stars. He was already planning a slender bridge to a nearby mallorn and a flett high in its branches.

Gimli stretches a little beneath the covers. He is an old dwarf and no magic can gift him youth or immortality, but already in this air he feels refreshed, his back and knees no longer ache, his eyesight clears, even his hands that had begun to twist painfully with the years are unknotting so that he would enjoy working on this place although, he thinks, perhaps it would be good to leave the cave much as they had found it...let the place work on them, rather than shaping it to some grand plan...perhaps it would be an adventure to learn to work in wood?

He listens for a few minutes to Legolas’ soft breathing; he does not need to open his eyes to know how his elf looks in reverie. So many new wonders he will see in this place, but one already sticks in his mind; something he can barely credit except that the Lady, stood at his side, told the tale.

Legolas had been closeted with the Healers and Galadriel had taken him to walk in a grove of slender birch trees with at its heart a meadow, studded with wild flowers.

“You may wonder Gimli, son of Gloin,” she said, “how a dwarf comes to Aman. It is not only your service to the Fellowship, but also your friendship to the First-Born and the love that Legolas bears for you which weighed in the scales…and love is something that can tear down the strongest walls.”

It was just then that they came to the edge of the meadow and Gimli saw, pacing the grass, a white horse which bore on its back two naked figures on whose skin the light shone until they looked silver and gold.

“They cannot see you,” Galadriel murmured, but Gimli barely heard her for his ears were filled with teasing laughter and his eyes were starred with tears.

Guiding the horse with his heels, the Lord Elrond had one hand on its white mane whilst the other arm was wrapped about the figure set before him.

Gimli gazed on a sight he had not seen since he was a young dwarf, too young to join the thirteen on their quest, so that he had hugged his cousins tightly and wished them good fortune at their leaving and that had been the last time he had seen them in life. Now Kili was before him, whole and laughing, one hand laid over Elrond’s on the horse’s mane, whilst the other was tangled in a lock of his elf-lord’s hair, his head tilted back against Elrond’s breast to receive a brief kiss as the white horse traversed the green.

“The Master of Rivendell bore a heavy burden of duty and leadership faithfully and well, Gimli, and his service did not go unrewarded, so that he was permitted to seek out his lover, marked with mithril. Lord Elrond has claimed Kili from beyond death to walk this place. In the Halls of Aulë his kin do not know that he has left the feast and to elven eyes, Lord Elrond sleeps peacefully and for a few days each month, they meet in this grove. They cannot leave its bourne and none may glimpse them save us…if we turn away now they will be gone from our sight…but this is a favourite spot and sometimes an elf will report laughter and sighs carried on the breeze.”

Gimli can feel salt tears trickling down his cheeks and soaking into his beard and so long ago and so far away, he hears his own young voice angrily telling his father that his hero, fallen in battle, would never have trusted an elf.

“All that we learn strengthens us, Gimli, and the future is often kinder than we fear.”

The Lady’s voice reaches into him and twines about his heart, so that he rubs the tears away with the corner of his sleeve and takes a last fond look at these lovers who can never be wholly parted. Elrond is bent forward to lay his forehead on the dwarf’s muscular shoulder and Kili’s head is turned to whisper into a pointed ear. Gimli hears Elrond’s soft groan roll across the green and shiver in the soles of his feet and as he turns away, he looks up at the Lady and offers her his arm.

-oo0oo-


End file.
